A Little Thing Called Destiny
by DarlingDarla
Summary: Three years later, Erik is still brooding over his losses, but could fate hold something entirely different for him? Maybe a certain firey Italian beauty who carries burdens and secrets of her own...
1. Dreams

Chapter One

"Dreams"

She ran across the wet, uneven floor, desperately trying to stay on her feet. Every once in a while, her hand would brush up against the rough stones of a wall, alerting her to the fact that she was in some sort of tunnel. Other than that, she might as well have been blind. There were no lights to guide her through the unfamiliar windings and stretches of this place.

Once she could no longer hear her pursuer's footsteps, she slowed to catch her breath. She leaned against a foreign wall, trying to steady her shaking body. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before he returned, she began to look for somewhere to hide. She walked slowly, allowing her hand to feel along the wall.

She did not go far before she felt the wall end. In truth, the wall didn't end. She had found the entryway to one of the many doors under the Opera house.

She backed into the space, watching for any movement that might catch her eye. Suddenly, a hand flew out from behind her to cover her mouth while the other hand went around her waist. He pulled her closer to him. "I've been looking for you Isabella" he breathed in her ear. "But you knew that already, didn't you?" He removed the hand that covered her mouth to drag a finger down her cheek and neck, gently caressing the exposed skin of her shoulder. She felt the hand around her waist begin to loosen and took the moment to wrench herself away from him.

He had already predicted her move and forcefully grabbed her around the neck. "Where do you think you're going?" he literally spat in her face. She slapped him hard across the face, successfully causing him to drop her. She tried to run, but it didn't take him long to overtake her. He jumped on top of her and began beating her mercilessly, calling out obscenities all the while.

He grabbed her hair and began throwing her head into the hard stone floor, over and over…

She sat up in bed, panting breathlessly. Her hand was clasped to her chest, as if she were trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. Little Meg Giry stood wide-eyed at the end of her bed.

"Isabella, are you alright? You've had another one of your dreadful nightmares." She moved to sit next to her on the bed. "What is it that scares you so?" Isabella simply shook her head, not ready to let her in on the subject of her night terrors. Meg sighed and stood up from the bed. "Rehearsal starts in twenty minutes. Do you need help getting ready? You know how mother gets when we're late."

"No, you go ahead. I'll be there shortly. There's no sense in both of us being late." Isabella sighed. At that Meg began to move towards the door, but stopped as a thought came to her. "You wouldn't be dreaming about the Opera Ghost, would you now?" she asked. Isabella could not help but laugh. "No, but didn't you ever hear that curiosity killed the cat?" Isabella playfully pushed her towards the door. "I'm going I'm going" giggled Meg. And with a quick smile over her shoulder she was gone.

Isabella closed the door behind Meg, leaning her back up against it, her hand resting limply on the doorknob. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to rid herself of the images in her dream.

Trying to think of anything else than the man that had beat her into unconsciousness mere moments before, she allowed her thoughts to drift to Meg's mention of the Opera Ghost.

It had been three years since the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_ and the devastation that followed. Christine did not return to the Opera house. She did, however, still correspond regularly with Meg and Madame Giry. That was how all the Opera's inhabitants knew that she was now a viscomtess with a two year-old son named Charles. They also knew that they were currently residing at the DeChagny estate in the Parisian countryside.

It literally made Isabella sick to listen to all the chatter about Christine's painstakingly perfect life.

It wasn't that she was jealous; No, not in the least. She would rather marry a beggar than an airy-headed fop whose pockets were lined with gold. She simply shuddered at the thought. She was just irritated that Christine could so easily leave behind her life at the Opera house.

She knew of course, that it was for the best. She couldn't exactly live a normal life with all the rumors about her involvement with a certain Phantom swirling around. But she could have at least had the decency to pay everyone a proper goodbye before she left. Instead she had just run out, never to return again. And what agitated her further was that she never mentioned any of her fellow ballerinas, for that was what she had been before the Phantom had attempted to make her the resident diva, in any of her letters. Did she just think that all the memories would dissolve if she cut off all contact with her friends, excluding the Girys?

She shook her head as she moved towards her wardrobe. No one knew better than Isabella that horrid memories could not be wished away. Instead, they were etched into one's memory bound to taunt you the rest of your days.

But even with that night having been three years in the past, the ballerinas and chorus girls still prattled on about the infamous Phantom of the Opera, sure as day that he still resided in the bowels of the Opera, watching the performances from either the rafters or box five, waiting for his next victim.

Isabella had never quite bought into the idea that he was a complete monster. She had seen a monster, lived with one in fact. And if her memory served her correctly, he didn't fit that profile. He had never laid a hand on Christine, and in the end, he had let her go hadn't he?

And as for Joseph Buquet and Piangi, well, her feelings could best be described as indifferent. Buquet was a horrid man, always spying on the ballet girls and always sloshed. He would wait in the dark hallways, lewdly grabbing any girl that came his way. He had deserved to hang.

But as much as she believed he had deserved it, she wouldn't approve of it. Murder was murder, whether just or not.

On a second note, why was her mind on the Phantom? She shook her head again, and proceeded to open the wardrobe, pulling out her practice attire.

She dressed quickly and in less than five minutes was on her way to the practice room, not bothering to shut her wardrobe door or lock the door to her bedroom in her haste.


	2. Discoveries

Chapter 2

"Discoveries"

He passively observed the mediocre performance from the shadows of box five. It was only the beginning of rehearsals, but Erik's eyes and ears had had enough abuse for one day. The Opera House was getting ready for the opening night of _Faust_, no easy task. Up until today, things had been going remarkably well, but it seemed that everyone was having an off day, including the lead soprano who was in the role of Marguerite.

The managers had quickly replaced Christine and Carlotta with Laurette Dalry. At first glance, no one would have pinned her a leading soprano. In fact, the managers had nearly dismissed her before she had even auditioned.

She was unnaturally tall, nearly six foot. Her long, pale face was framed by stick straight, bright red locks that nearly reached her waist. And her voice…Erik nearly shuddered at the thought. She spoke as though she had a close-pin permanently attached to her nose. It was almost comical, but quickly became irritating.

But when she sang, it became clear that she not only had a naturally talented voice, but she had been lucky enough to have had lessons.

Erik himself thought she was quite good; nothing special, of course, but good. Her only real fault was that she lacked emotion. As much as he had loathed Carlotta, he still had to admit that she had sang with a passion that was unmatched by Laurette. As she sang the words "My spirit longs with thee to rest", her face did not display feelings of anguish, but rather those of apathy and listlessness.

Having had enough, Erik stood from his seat and turned and left the box, leaving a note for Madame Giry behind. The contents of the letter read as follows:

_My Dear Madame Giry,_

_Please inform Mademoiselle Dalry that it would be to her advantage to focus on her acting as much as she does her voice. The Parisian people pay to see over the top, and nothing less. _

_Your obedient servant, _

_O.G. _

He slipped silently through the hallways behind the stage, under the cover of shadow. Although everyone was either on stage, in the wings, or in the practice rooms, he still preferred to be hidden.

His precautions had served him well. He had not gone a few feet before he heard footsteps coming his way. He backed up against the wall and waited for the wandering stranger to pass.

He noticed that the footsteps were light, those of either a woman or a dancer, or both. They were also hurried, as if their owner was running a bit late. As the person passed by, he dared not breathe.

Just as they walked in front of him, light flooded in from a nearby window and illuminated the person's face. It had indeed been a woman, a young woman. And she was indeed a dancer, dressed in her practice attire, a pair of Pointe shoes in hand.

But what he had not accounted for, was her beauty. She had olive toned skin that looked as though it had been kissed by the sun, ever so gently. Raven curls cascaded down her back. Her face was adorned with a pair of large green eyes that looked like pools of emerald. She was of an average height, maybe 5'6", which made her far shorter than he. She had a lithe body, but managed to retain her natural curves. She was a sight to behold.

He shifted slightly, almost unconsciously, and she stopped where she stood. She turned around slowly, recognizing that the sound had come from behind. "Who is there?" she questioned. When no response came, she grew agitated. "Show yourself this instant. I will not be stalked like some prey. I ask again, who is there!"

Having lost control of his senses, he stepped out from the shadows. Instead of backing down at the sight of him, she walked up to him and stood on tip toe, trying her best to level with him. "What are you doing here? Who do you think you are?" she asked angrily.

He was slightly taken aback by her forwardness, but not for long. He began to lose his patience with the girl. No one questioned him. He was the dominating presence in this Opera house.

He stepped out of the shadow further, revealing to her his mask. In an ice cold tone he replied, "I am the Phantom of the Opera. And who might you be mademoiselle?"


	3. Introductions

Chapter 3

"Introductions"

_I am the Phantom of the Opera…_; the words resounded in her head. She took a step back and her hand went to her chest, as she was finding it hard to breathe. Her heart sank. _So this is to be my end then…_

Suddenly his hand flew to her throat, but only to lightly trace the silhouette of her neck with his fingertips. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I will ask you again, what is your name mademoiselle? It is in your best interest to answer me."

His last comment served only to ignite Isabella's temper. Refusing to be seduced into giving him an answer, she roughly pushed his hand away. She crossed her arms over her chest indignantly and replied, "It is none of your business who I am monsieur", the tone of her voice giving away her anger.

When he did not respond to her remark, she continued, "And furthermore, if you are the infamous Opera Ghost, why don't you already know who I am? I thought the Opera Ghost was supposed to know about all the happenings in_ his_ Opera House" , a smirk creeping across her face.

No person had ever rendered him speechless, and certainly no woman. If he had not been completely taken by her, he would have throttled her that moment, but he could not find it within himself to do it. It seemed he was growing soft as the years passed by.

His patience waning, he quipped, "If you had any sense at all, you would know that it is not wise to speak to your master in such a manner."

Had her ears betrayed her? No, he had indeed referred to himself as _her master_. "My master!" she nearly cried. " Monsieur Phantom, I have no master. I heed no one's words other than those of Madame Giry. I have never had a master and I do not plan on having one now."

"Well, what would you call me mademoiselle? If it pleased me, I could brutally end your life this moment." She gasped at his harsh words. "Or, I could allow you to live if you do as I say. Going by those facts, I would say that I am certainly your master."

"I think not" ,she hissed. Before he could grab her, she turned and made haste towards the practice room. Seething, he turned on his heel and stormed down the hallway towards his home.

As he was passing the dormitories, a thought occurred to him. A mischievous grin crept over his face as he whispered into the darkness, "We will meet again mademoiselle."


	4. Surprises

Chapter 4

Surprises

It had been an excruciatingly long day for Isabella. After her encounter this morning, she had not been able to focus during practice, falling out of spins and stepping on toes all over the place. With opening night a mere week away, Madame Giry was to say the least, livid.

She stayed late, determined to make up for the horrid practice. But it had been no use. Her thoughts were somewhere else tonight.

As she walked back to her room unaccompanied, she pondered the fact that it might not have been the best idea. He could be there waiting for her in the shadows, ready to strangle her for the strong words she had used with him earlier.

But, to her relief, the trip to her room turned out to be uneventful. As she turned the knob, she realized that she had forgotten to lock her door. She only hoped none of the stagehands had rifled through her things, never guessing what truly lay behind the door.

She swiftly swung the door open and had to grasp the door frame to keep from falling down. There he sat, in the armchair in the corner of the room, next to her bed. At the sight of her reaction to him, a smug smile crept across his face. It didn't last long.

He stood up from the low chair with the grace of a feline, and made his way towards her. Isabella turned to run, but he caught her from behind and drew her into the room, shutting the door behind them.

He pushed her up against the door, one hand holding her wrists in front of her, the other holding her chin, forcing her to look at him. His put his knee against her thigh to keep her pinned against the door.

"Why do you run from me…Isabella?" He purred her name, gloating in the fact that somehow, he had come to learn it without her telling him. She only glared at him, determined not to speak.

"Have I left you without words? I never thought that possible" he commented mockingly. He took the liberty to trace his fingers along her cheek bones and slowly across her lips.

Tantalizingly, he traced her collarbone to the locket she wore. "Hmm…what do we have here?" he questioned. He picked it up off her neck with his long fingers, studying it as if it would give him some clue as to who she was.

"Is this a gift from your lover my dear?" he asked, trying to get a rise out of her. Breaking her silence, she replied, "No. It was from…my father." A tear stained her cheek, catching him off guard. Erik slowly dropped the locket and let go of her. "I'm sorry" he said quietly.

Her cheeks flushed with anger and flames danced in her eyes. "Sorry for what?" she spat, pushing him out of her way. She moved to the other side of the room, keeping her back to him.

"My father is not dead, though God knows sometimes I wish he was. Maybe then I would have some peace." She crossed her arms, and moments later, sobs began to rack her small frame.

Slowly, Erik walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He turned her towards him. "If he is not dead, than why do you cry?" Isabella was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. "You wouldn't understand" she replied. "No one understands" she repeated as she walked around him and sat herself on the edge of the bed.

Her anger returning, she asked him "And what business is it of yours? Why are your standing here in my room?" She stood up and walked towards him. "And what right did you have to come in here, uninvited, and push me up against the door like a savage?"

He stood stock still, not having answered any of her questions. Quietly she asked him one final question. "What is it that you want with me monsieur?"


	5. Seduction

Chapter 5

"Seduction"

Erik moved towards the door, but Isabella wanted an answer and so she quickly moved in front of the door, hands on hips, her eyes searching his face.

He came to stand directly in front of her. "Excuse me Madame, I am leaving, and you are blocking the only exit."

Her only reply was "I know" as she continued to glare at him. "Would you rather I move you by physical force Isabella?" he asked wearily. "You would attempt no such thing" she replied. As he took another step towards her, their bodies nearly touching, her confidence began to wane.

Before she could escape, his hands were around her waist. "You wouldn't…" she started, but was interrupted as he took her over his shoulder. She pounded her tiny fists into his back, demanding to be put down.

He walked to the other side of the room and sat her down on the bed. As he turned to leave, her hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve. "You still have not answered my question she stated in a frustrated tone. She stood as he turned to face her.

His lips remained sealed, his face revealing no emotion. Just as she began to let go of his sleeve, he began to speak. "I did not hunt you down or seek you out. Our meeting was a complete coincidence, and a mistake to say the least. You would never have sensed me in the shadows, but when you passed by, I seemed to have lost my senses temporarily due to…." He stopped abruptly, as if deciding that he had said too much.

He made to go to the door, but once again she stood in front of him, her back against the door, arms folded in front of her. "Due to what?" she inquired.

Amused with her sudden change in attitude, a smirk crept across his face. "My, aren't we curious, or should I say, nosy?" There it was again, that fire that seemed to dance in her eyes. Her cheeks flushed a deep red at his mocking tone.

Chuckling at her so easily enflamed temper and lack of patience, he continued. "If you must know, I was slightly taken aback by your…how do I put this without inflating your head…dare I say, lovely features." He leaned in as he said the last part, his face mere inches from her own.

She held his gaze like before, but he noticed that the flames of anger had seemingly been doused. She was even more attractive when her eyes were wide, like they were now, and full of vulnerability.

He could not resist any longer. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her full on the lips. To his shock, he felt her arms slip around his neck as his hands traveled down to her hips. He backed her up against the door again, though this time for a completely different reason.

He broke the kiss momentarily, allowing her to inhale the much needed oxygen, and him to let his lips travel down to the hollow of her neck. He began to gently suckle the place where the neck meets the shoulder, sending shivers down Isabella's spine. Her hands gently caressed his back as a small moan escaped her lips. Hearing her pleasure, he softly nipped at the place where his lips had been, causing her hands to grasp his shoulders as another whimper escaped her.

Suddenly, her hands went to his chest and she pushed at him. "This is wrong" she breathed. "I don't even know your name, stop…oh…stop…please…" Reluctantly, Erik took his lips from her shoulder and picked his head up.

"We shouldn't be doing this" she said. "We barely even know each other, and moments ago, we were fighting." Her hands covered her face, an attempt to conceal her rosy cheeks.

He wrapped his hands around her delicate wrists and took her hands from her face. "Yes, but you liked it, did you not? Is that not what enticed you and drew you to myself. Admit it Isabella, you enjoyed my kisses and caresses."

She yanked her hands away and opened the door. "I was seduced, and it will not happen again." She motioned for him to leave through the open door. He bowed to her before he continued out the door, irritating her further. "I do believe that we will see each other again my dear…I will see to it." And then he was gone, simply another shadow that filled the hallway outside her room.


End file.
